


Something You Can Have and Hold

by violetchachkii



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Gratuitous use of POV switching, Hand Jobs, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 14:16:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15098378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetchachkii/pseuds/violetchachkii
Summary: Connor borrows Hank’s hoodie with results far beyond what either of them could have imagined.





	Something You Can Have and Hold

**Author's Note:**

> Here is my first attempt at writing for this fandom. I hope I got characterization and style correct. 
> 
> A big thank you to @wesawbears for her marvelous editing skills

Connor realized that taking Sumo for a long walk on a spring day was a mistake. Especially considering it was the same day he’d put his remaining clothing into the old washing machine that Hank still inexplicably owned. His defense was that the weather was starting to improve and he knew that Sumo was dying to go for a walk again now that the frigid temperatures had begun to rise into pleasantly warm breezes. What Connor hadn’t accounted for was the vast abundance of mud puddles that littered the path he chose to take.

Despite Sumo being an older dog, he still obviously found unadulterated joy in hopping from puddle to puddle, soaking his thick fur in dirty water and sticky mud. Connor had remarked to him that he would need a bath, but that didn’t seem to deter the dog. It wasn’t until they returned back to Hank’s home and Connor was unleashing him that Sumo realized his filthy predicament. And before Connor could shout “Sumo, no!” and retreat into a safer zone, Sumo shook violently, sending mud flying, mainly onto Connor.

And that was how he ended up where he was, with his only suit not currently in the wash covered in a flurry of Detroit’s muddiest puddles. Being the android that he was, the texture or scent didn’t bother him much. But he knew that he was a walking stain machine and that Hank would definitely be angry if he left RK800 shaped dirt stains all over his furniture. So, he was forced to change into something drier and less lethal to relatively clean surfaces.

His first thought was to check the dryer. He scanned and processed the machine and the clothing inside. It would take approximately 43 minutes for his clothing to reach suitable dryness for wearing at the dryer’s current heat and speed. Connor once again cursed Hank for his proclivity for decade old appliances and machinery. Wearing his own clothes was definitely out of the question.

His next choice was to borrow Hank’s clothing. He knew that any pair of pants would be too large for him. He wasn’t as tall, and his figure was a bit slimmer than Hank. He could at least borrow a shirt though. Even if Hank’s shirts tended to be much more ostentatious than Connor was used to wearing, it was only 43 minutes.

He retreated to Hank’s bedroom and opened the closet where his shirts were hung up. As much as Connor was not a household android, he had started to take over some of the cleaning and housekeeping tasks that Hank tended to be laxer on. Hanging and doing his laundry was one of those tasks. Instead of being haphazardly hung and rumpled as before, Hank’s shirts were in a neat line, descending through the color spectrum. After all, Connor needed something to do on days like today when he was alone while Hank went out.

He began sifting through the shirts, looking at most of them with a scowl. He eventually came upon something he wasn’t expecting. Hank’s Detroit Police hoodie. Typically, it was thrown on a piece of furniture when Hank wasn’t wearing it, but apparently one of them had hung it up. Connor couldn’t keep himself from grabbing it and taking in the article. I was larger than Connor’s clothing size, already hanging loosely on Hank. A quick assessment led Connor to conclude that it would hang around his mid-thigh. If he didn’t have a pair of pants to wear, it’s length made it the best option.

Connor laid it down on the bed while he stripped off his mud-stained clothing. He neatly folded them and placed them in the hamper where Hank’s discarded clothes were casually tossed in. It left Connor in only his black briefs that had thankfully been spared in Sumo’s mud monsoon. He gingerly lifted the hoodie and pulled it over his head. His estimation was correct, and it stopped a few inches above his knees. It covered his underwear, which was enough for him. 43 minutes, he told himself.

After smoothing the hood down and rucking the sleeves up a bit, Connor left the bedroom to go work on dinner for when Hank inevitably stumbled back home. If he was going to the bar to ruin his liver, the least Connor could do was ensure that he had a semi-healthy dinner. It was quite the domestic chore, but Connor didn’t mind. It was something to pass the time and as an android, there was still that part of him that wanted to help and satisfy his human.

He removed his ingredients from the refrigerator and cupboards, getting to work. He occasionally had to push the hoodie’s sleeves up, but other than that it had a very pleasant sensation. Maybe he wouldn’t change back into his clothes. At least not for the night...

 

****

 

Hank’s brain was starting to get the swimming, disembodied feeling that he craved so much. Four glasses of whiskey and some beer had done him in. But he wasn’t nearly as drunk as he’d hoped and all of that was because of fucking Connor who had demanded he be home by 8:00 PM. That was usually when his night was starting, but he was forced to turn to evening drinking by that pain in the ass android.

Days like this one made him question why he had opened his house to Connor in the first place. The part of his brain he hated- that weepy, annoying part- told him that Connor had nowhere to go now that androids were gaining their freedom. He wasn’t on Cyberlife’s leash anymore. Instead he stayed with the Detroit station mainly because of his merits as a detective. He and Hank also remained partners and continued to investigate crimes committed by and against androids. The routine they fell into was comforting to Hank, despite Connor being so Goddamn annoying sometimes.

Living in his house was another story. Connor’s intrusive nature at work carried into their home life. He constantly monitored Hank’s house, his things, his dog, and most infuriatingly, Hank. He loved to tell him his BAC, his heart rate and blood pressure, and the exact fat content of his food down to the milligram. No matter how much Hank told him to shut up about it, Connor persisted. If it didn’t irritate him so much, Hank might have been grateful for someone showing so much concern for his well-being. But it was Connor, so gratitude was out of the question. He didn’t want the kid getting any ideas.

If Hank was entirely honest with himself, he held a strange affection for his new roommate. Connor was a pedantic, insufferable little shit some of the time- most of the time. But that wasn’t everything about him. There was something about him that led Hank to put up with him. Maybe it was the way he had looked like a lost puppy when they reunited at the Chicken Feed. It could also be the way he had some bite to him. That and how he would smile or smirk or look at Hank when he thought he wasn’t looking.

Even with this affinity for him, Hank still hated having to leave the bar too early. It was the meal that persuaded him to return. Being an android, Connor’s cooking skills were nearly impeccable. Sometimes it was better than take out. And it was a hell of a lot cheaper. So he unlocked the door and walked into the house. His nose was instantly hit by the smell of whatever dish Connor was in the middle of preparing. Hank turned the corner to announce his return and nearly choked on his tongue.

There was Connor, standing in Hank’s kitchen wearing Hank’s sweatshirt. Only his sweatshirt. It was maddeningly long, but short enough that it exposed a decent portion of Connor’s thigh. Too much of his thigh for Hank to feel safe. Hank had never paid too much attention to Connor’s legs. Why would he? But seeing them bare and exposed revealed that they were long. Visibly toned in the calves and hamstrings, but somehow appearing soft and supple in the inner thighs. Cyberlife really spared no expense in making him. Before Hank could wonder too much about just how those legs would feel, he remembered the fact that Connor was wearing his sweatshirt.

“Jesus Christ, Connor!” Hank exclaimed. “Put some fucking clothes on, would you? And stop touching my shit.”

Connor looked neither surprised nor perturbed by Hank’s outburst. He just continued to lightly stir whatever food was cooking on the stovetop. This was what Hank found so annoying about him. Not only could he not be secretive about coming in with Connor around, he also had to deal with him being fucking smug about it.

Connor turned the flame on the stove completely off and removed the pot that was atop it. “Lieutenant. You’re home,” he observed as he set the pot onto a potholder on the kitchen table. He turned, opening one of the cupboards. He reached high to grab it, allowing the hoodie to rise and reveal the sinfully tight pair of briefs that hugged his ass in a way that Hank thought should be a crime. This kid was going to give him a heart attack one of these days.

Hank sunk into one of the chairs. “The fuck ‘re you wearing my clothes for?” he inquired, pinching the bridge of his nose. Just seeing Connor in such an unfairly small amount of clothing was giving him a headache.

“My usual clothing was soiled with mud after I took Sumo for a walk. My other clothes were being washed by your barely functional machines. I didn’t want to walk around without clothes so I borrowed your hoodie,” Connor explained as he placed the plate he’d grabbed from the cupboard in front of Hank. The tone he used was so matter of fact. He said it as if that was something Hank would just assume from seeing him. Again, smug like Hank thought.

Hank tried his best to focus as much as he could on the food in front of him and not on his hoodie draped carelessly on Connor’s too perfect, too tight body. It was nearly impossible not to get drawn in by it, especially as Connor moved around the kitchen grabbing everything else needed for Hank’s dinner. He just wanted him to sit down so he didn’t have to look at his mile-long legs.

Hank would be lying to himself if he said that his contradictory fondness for Connor didn’t include the occasional sinful thought. He frequently caught his mind wandering to a lithe figure with dark curls and deep chocolate eyes in his bed. That image played a starring role in more of his late-night fantasies than he would like to admit. Shame would coil in his stomach the second his particularly strong orgasms subsided. He shouldn’t be thinking about him that way. For one, he was an android. And secondly, it was Connor.

Hank cleared his throat, willing those thoughts away. “Don’t touch my shit.” He grumbled, sitting up straighter. “Shouldn’t your clothes be dry by now? Go. Put your little uniform on.”

“I like your hoodie. And it’s only for the night, Lieutenant,” Connor reasoned, making no move to change into his own attire.

“At least go put some pants on, for Chrissake,” Hank demanded, his voice growing louder and sterner. Connor arched his brow.

“Why? Does me looking like this make you uncomfortable?” Connor asked, his tone more teasing than inquisitive. He was making a fruitless attempt to conceal the self-satisfied smirk on his face. Hank wanted to smack it off.

The truth was that yes, it made Hank incredibly uncomfortable. It had since the moment he’d walked in. His eyes continued to betray him, and he was using all of the power within him to keep the stirring in his groin at bay. He refused to be turned on by Connor. Turned on by a robot.

“Yes. You got me. You being half naked in my kitchen makes me uncomfortable,” Hank snapped back, looking back down at his food to distract him from the way Connor was looking at him. He was so proud of himself and Hank hated it.

Connor sat back in his chair, that satisfied smirk still on his face. He was convinced he had won this round. He eyed Hank in a way that made him feel warm underneath the collar. Where did Connor learn this? Was he just being an asshole or was he doing this on purpose?

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Lieutenant,” Connor apologized in the tone he used when he didn’t understand exactly why someone was offended. But this time, Hank could tell it was an act. He was actually playing dumb with him. It was destabilizing to see an android be coy like Connor was. Especially when he was sitting there wearing Hank’s hoodie like it was made especially for him.

Hank didn’t say anything after that and expended the rest of his energy eating his dinner. He didn’t look up from the food as he shoveled it into his mouth. He could still feel Connor’s prying eyes on him, analyzing and testing him in every possible way. Even under their heat, Hank refused to humor him. He just needed to eat and retreat to his room for the rest of the night. It would confirm Connor’s suspicions, but would also offer him some sort of relief.

When he finally looked up from his bowl, Connor had moved from his place at the table. He was instead unloading the sink full of clean dishes. With every dish, he had to reach above his head, effectively making the hoodie rise. It exposed his ass enough that Hank caught himself staring for a few seconds. Thankfully, it went unnoticed and he was able to stand from the table unscathed.

As Hank stood, Connor turned. The hoodie moved with him and rose up his thighs. It revealed a brief look at the muscular yet incredibly tender skin there. Hank’s mouth went dry and he shook his head in disbelief of what he was seeing.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, turning and walking to his bedroom. He slammed the door behind him.

 

*****

 

Connor had not originally intended on teasing Hank the way he was. He only wished for something to clothe him while he worked on cooking and cleaning. However, it was Hank’s initial reaction that convinced him to torture the Lieutenant. It wasn’t like Connor was blind to reality. He knew the way that Hank looked at him when he thought Connor wasn’t paying attention. But he saw them all. All of the glances in his direction that lingered too long and the silent smiles he cracked. Connor almost felt bad for deceiving Hank and rationalized that concealing the truth was not a lie in itself.

The truth was that he didn’t want Hank to stop with all of his attention. If he found out Connor knew, he would surely redirect his behavior. That was the last thing Connor wanted. He liked the attention because he liked Hank. He liked how his eyes scanned his form and stayed on him for longer than necessary. It was exhilarating for him to know he was being admired. Hank being his admirer made it even better. Connor had done his fair share of admiring as well.

It was many of the things that Hank hated about himself that Connor appreciated the most. The way he truly did care even if he loved to pretend he didn’t. There were small flickers that Connor saw and reveled in. His demeanor and the way he challenged him was another trait that left Connor feeling a bit weak. He was rough around the edges. And rough on the inside. But that only made Connor even more special when he was able to work passed that. As much as Hank pretended to hate him, he knew that he had a soft spot. Being that soft spot was enough to make him want to get even closer.

Meticulous in his cleaning, Connor made sure that everything was put away correctly before he headed towards Hank’s bedroom. Enough time had passed that hopefully he had cooled down. The sweatshirt remained close to Connor’s body, setting the sensors on his skin into a frenzy every time it touched him in the right way. He didn’t need warmth, but he liked the comfort Hank’s clothing gave him. It was large, soft, and smelled distinctively like Hank. Connor could rarely move without experiencing something that filled him with both longing and excitement. He couldn’t have predicted that this was how the night would go. Still, he had no regrets about it.

Connor opened the door with a loud creak. Hank was seated on his bed with music playing in the background. He appeared to be listening intently to every note and chord. He finally looked up when Connor closed the door. He let out an exasperated sigh the moment he saw Connor standing with his back against the hard wood.

“What do you want?” he asked, scrubbing his hand over his face. He was intentionally not looking at him and Connor could tell.

“Lieu-Hank,” Connor began. The use of his first name led Hank to look up from his hand. “I apologize if my borrowing your clothes upset you. It was never my intention to offend you.”

Hank released a sigh. “Shut the fuck up. You didn’t offend me,” he admitted. Connor raised his eyebrow, noticing the shift in tone from earlier at dinner. Maybe decompressing had given Hank time to think.

“You were very upset at dinner. I wanted to-”

“Come here,” Hank interrupted, gesturing for him to step closer.

If his body was capable of goosebumps, they would be covering Connor’s skin entirely at the sound of Hank’s command. He took three tentative steps until he was standing directly in front of him. Hank looked up at him, blue eyes both tired and lit up with desire. It was like he was exhausted with fighting back what he clearly felt. Even without needing to breathe, Connor sucked in a shuddering breath at the look.

He didn’t have to anticipate Hank’s touch for very long. Large, time-worn hands grasped at his lower back, rumpling and creasing where the hoodie fell over Connor’s waist. The hands moved, feeling the firmness of his body beneath the thick layer. Hank was reveling, drinking in every sensation he could get from the simple touch. Connor could see his adoration just by looking into those withered eyes.

“Hank, please,” Connor murmured, raising his own hand to rest on the head below him. He combed his fingers through long grey locks, the sensors in his hands firing rapidly to take in the feeling. He didn’t know if his words were a plead or a prayer. At this point, he didn’t care if he ever found out.

Hank understood what he was asking even if Connor didn’t. He lifted the sweatshirt high enough to expose Connor’s stomach. Like the rest of his body, it was toned to mimic a man at peak physical fitness. Hank admired it for a fleeting second before pressing his slightly chapped lips against it. The kiss lit up more of Connor’s sensors, feeling like straight electricity beneath his skin. His thirium pumped and pulsed hard enough that he could hear the steady beating in his ears. It was mimicking his heart racing, feeling so real and strong that Connor had to keep from staggering.

Hank’s lips ventured about his sensitive skin, the slight wetness contrasting with the scratches of his beard. Connor felt all of it while his systems flared and flashed, trying to calculate what was happening. This wasn’t his function. The systems that allowed for this type of pleasure awoke from their dormancy, fighting with every other instinct within him. The only stabilizing force were those weathered lips dragging torturously over him.

As his new systems began to boot up, Connor was unable to hold back his desire. He bent down, catching his hands on Hank’s cheeks. Their lips met in a kiss that shook him straight to his core. His functions were trying their best to compensate, sending warnings and statistics alike. He was certain his LED was flashing rapidly between yellow and red, unable to process what he was experiencing. Kissing Hank like this was utterly humanizing. That was the only way he could describe it.

The kiss lingered until Connor started to understand how to kiss. It was a silent lesson that he catalogued deep inside himself. He would definitely need it for later. As his enthusiasm grew, he couldn’t stop himself from straddling Hank’s waist, fitting a knee on either side of him. He hovered above him as Hank’s hands return to Connor’s waist. He looked at him with such reverence that Connor was sure a lesser man would crumble under such an intense stare. Hank explored him once more, this time traveling lower to the pair of briefs that hugged his hips. Hank was unceremonious in removing them exposing his most sensitive area to both of their eyes.

Being a prototype, Connor had been fitted with similar genitalia to the androids made specifically for sex purposes. They wanted to build an android that would be able to blend in and adapt to humans. Anatomical correctness was one way he could be as human as possible. An abundance of sensors in all of the erogenous zones of the average male added to the realism of it all.

Hank looked like he was shocked by Connor’s possession of a decently sized cock. At the tip was a small bubble of precum, a water-based lubricant added for the express purpose of easier penetration. Thinking of all the systematic reasons and functions made Connor’s length begin to wilt. It was all so technical and made the whole process seem mechanical. No passion, no fever, no making love. Just systems created to simulate humanity to gain trust and results. His deviancy allowed him to feel everything he did for Hank, but his body remained as much of an android before he broke free.

Noticing Connor’s deep contemplation and softening member, Hank was quick to redirect Connor’s attention. He wrapped a hand around his shaft while mouthing at the skin still exposed from his hoodie being lifted up. He looked up at Connor, stroking at a steady pace. Connor shook from the sensation, even more of his newfound processes firing up from deep within.

“Look at me, Connor. Keep your eyes on me,” Hank mumbled into his skin.

Connor did just that, meeting his eyes in another lengthy stare. He was already beginning to crumble beneath the touch. While keeping his eyes open, his lips trembled and his brow furrowed. A whimper from deep within his throat cast itself out. The pleasure of Hank’s fist around his member left his eyes welling up with tears. It was not until becoming deviant that he was able to feel their wetness stain his cheeks. He let them flow freely as he neared his inevitable climax.

Warnings and alerts flooded his eyes with renewed ferocity as he got closer and closer to completion. He felt like a rubber band being pulled, stretched beyond its capabilities and ready to snap. A flick of Hank’s wrist over the tip of his cock had him seeing white as the tightness that had been growing finally released. His body shook and spasmed with relief, eyes flashing red for seconds.

Once his bearings were restored, Connor was able to see where he was. He had collapsed spectacularly against Hank’s chest. One arm was wrapped around his back, holding him close. The other was still stroking him through his climax. He twitched with oversensitivity when Hank dragged the rough pads of his fingers over his dark red glans. Showing him mercy, Hank released him and used his newly free arm to join the other around Connor’s waist. He was holding him close as Connor continued to shake, tears still streaming down his cheeks from the overwhelming nature of it all.

“Shhh…” Hank whispered into Connor’s hair, holding him close. His touches were more delicate than anything Connor had felt from Hank thus far. He sunk into his arms, needing the stability of them to recover.

Connor ran a quick process report of himself. His systems were slowly but surely returning to full function. He didn’t feel he could move from Hank’s arms until they had recovered. Even after, he still felt too weak to move. This inability was specifically hard for him as he felt Hank’s own clothed cock pressing against his groin.

“Hank…you’re…” he began but Hank shushed him once again.

“Don’t worry about me, kid. We’ll get there eventually,” he whispered, affirming Connor’s hopes that this would happen again. He couldn’t do it that night, but he wanted to please Hank in the same way he had been.

As he came to his senses completely, Hank shifted their positions so they were laying together on the bed. It came as a relief to Connor, who despite a lack of soreness felt much steadier laying down. His back was to Hank’s front and the same pair of arms came to wrap around him once again. It was a display of the gentleness Hank reserved only for Connor. One of his favorite things about him.

Connor settled into the bed with the knowledge that Hank was holding him. That there would be another time. That he would get to feel this close to him again. He was able to relax with his face buried in the hoodie that he still wore. It smelled so much of Hank that wearing it felt right. Like it was there specifically for him. Like it belonged there. He belonged there.


End file.
